You're Not Alone
by demelzap
Summary: An encounter between Victoria and Batista. One wants more, but who will win?


Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, no disrespect is intended.

You're Not Alone

The heavy leg brace always left indentations. Lisa winced as she removed it and dropped it toward the open bag on the floor. She smiled ruefully, her fingers tracing through the deep marks. _Not that it really matters_ she thought, _It's not like they're beating down my door now that I'm not on TV anymore_. She sighed heavily, and turned to stow the brace away.

She smelled his cologne before she saw him approach. Her eyes closed against the memory. There was a time, well before the brace was needed, when the scent brought instant arousal. There was a time when it meant pleasure, and comfort, and laughter all rolled into one. Now it was just a reminder that she was nothing, and he was everything.

He didn't speak a word, she kept her eyes closed yet she started when his warm fingers covered hers on her knee. She bit her lower lip between her teeth.

"You know," he said softly, "That I can make it feel better." Strong fingers worked the tired muscles expertly.

"No," she responded in a strangled sounding voice. "You can't, and you won't." Her eyes fluttered open. "Your precious reputation takes a header even by talking to me."

His hand stilled on her knee, his gaze met hers. "You think I care about my reputation?"

"Dave," she paused, took a deep breath, "Things are different now. We're not shadow wrestlers in OVW, we live in a fishbowl. It's been so long. You know that if you're seen going in to my room..."

He stood, took her hand and pulled her up. "I don't give a flying fuck what people think."

--

Warm water closed over her shoulders as she sank lower into the tub. She couldn't help but sigh as the blissful warm feeling soothed the aches and pains. She indulged for a moment in just the sensation of floating free, free from pain, free from worry.

At last, she opened her eyes just a crack, gazed out through the open door, watched him. The massage had been heavenly, and after he'd shooed her into the bathroom. She had expected him to leave then, but he sat on the foot of the bed unbuttoning his cuffs as he watched the sports news. His toes wriggled against the carpet when he pushed his shoes free.

"Dave," she called softly. "Keep me company?"

He didn't turn toward her, just pointed the remote at the set and flipped it off. He continued to unbutton his shirt until it was open down the front, then stood and walked into the steamy bathroom. The lid flipped down on the commode, he sat, and finally looked at her.

"Feeling better?" he asked solicitously.

"Much," she whispered. "I thought you'd go back to your own room."

"Did you want me to?"

"No," she admitted softly.

He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You look silly," she said at last, smiling up at him.

His brow arched.

"Up there," she continued. "You look way too big for the pot. How do you..." her voice trailed off.

He chuckled. "Sometimes it's a bit dicey, like pissing on a postage stamp."

"That's an image I didn't need," she laughed.

"Well, you asked."

She raised her arm out of the warm water, rested it on the edge of the tub. "Sit down here, beside me."

He obliged, sinking down to sit on the floor next to her, his long legs stretched out on either side of the toilet. Eventually he reached out, tucked his fingers through hers on the edge of the tub. They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

When the water cooled, she rose from the tub. He disappeared back into the bedroom, bent to retrieve his shoes.

"I," she said, standing by the bed wrapped in a towel, "Would like it if you stayed."

He turned, watched as she dropped the towel, and climbed into the bed. Still watching he set the shoes down, removed his shirt and slacks and folded them over the chair that already contained his jacket. He smoothed the sheet, and laid atop it on his back. "To sleep."

She edged closer, the sheet wrapped tightly around her, pulled against his body. "Nothing more?"

"I respect you too much."

Disentangling her arm from the sheet, she rolled closer. "That's a slap in the face if I ever heard one," she said. "I'm good enough for you to look at, but not fuck anymore?"

"You misunderstand."

"Enlighten me then."

He rolled on his side, faced her. "I've always respected you, but I don't think you always respect yourself. I know you, maybe better than anyone else on this roster. I see that look you get sometimes, the desolation that fills you. So many sacrifices to keep yourself in the game, and for what? You get knocked down a peg again, forced to wait in the wings while airheads steal your spot. With desolation comes desperation. Without me stopping to rub your knee, you'd be in the sack with Grenier tonight, and twice as sore in the morning." He reached up, traced a finger over her cheek. "Cut yourself some slack once in a while Lisa."

She listened to the tone of his voice, to the hidden truth behind his words. "So you're saving me from myself. Mighty noble of you," she said. She laid her hand on her pillow. "I should kick you out."

He dropped his finger from her face, rolled on his back again. "Take the companionship, use it as an opportunity to rest. You can get back in the hamster wheel tomorrow."

She reached over, laid her hand along the hard curve of his erection where it strained against the cotton of his briefs.

He closed his eyes, a muscle tensed in his jaw.

"And what about you?" she asked. "You think I don't see the uncertainty? You said it yourself, we know each other better than most. When are you going to stop the self doubting and ride the tidal wave for all its worth? You say you're just here so I'll rest, but this," she squeezed gently, "Tells me otherwise."

He laid his hand over her wrist, squeezed, but didn't knock her hand away. "I'm not made of iron, you excited me once, you still do. But this is not the reason I came to your room with you."

"I know Dave," she said softly, edging closer, "And that's what makes this different. This is me offering, not you taking."

Before he could respond, she slipped her hand up under the waistband of the briefs, peeled them back to expose him.

He groaned low in his throat, his forehead pressed against hers on the pillow. "Not..." he whispered.

She stroked firmly, brought him to full erection, smeared the droplets of precum into his shaft. The tight elastic cut into his thigh. "Give me this," she murmured, "Just this."

With an effort, he closed his hand over her wrist, pressed his lips to her forehead and dragged her hand up and away. "There's something I want you to give me first." He shifted back, pulled the briefs back up, and turned his back to her.

Rolling away, she raised her hand to her mouth, breathed in his scent, and listened as he settled into sleep. "You bastard," she whispered, and settled herself down to sleep as well. "There's always the morning."

A soft grunt was her response.

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